


Sugar and Spice but You're Twice as Nice

by AlexWSpark



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adorable Katsuki Yuuri, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Smitten Victor Nikiforov, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, You will need a dentist after you read this, Yuri on Ice Secret Santa 2017, Yuuri Katsuki is Extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-02-13 03:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12974601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexWSpark/pseuds/AlexWSpark
Summary: "Thanks, Victor," Yuuri smiles, bends to give Makkachin one last head rub and walks out of Makka's with Victor's heart.a.k.a the Coffee Shop and (mild) Gaming AU that I'm so happy I wrote <3 Merry Christmas everyone, and I hope you enjoy!A million thanks to Ajwolf for the beta <3





	Sugar and Spice but You're Twice as Nice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HotaruYuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotaruYuki/gifts).



When Makkachin bolts down the road the instant he unlocks the cafe door, Victor thinks nothing of it. He turns the sign to 'Open', props the door open and cheerfully waves after his beloved poodle. He's been stationed at his current location for almost three years and feels confident in indulging her explorations; far be it from him to restrain Makkachin's free spirit and her novel-worthy adventures. Sometimes, she comes back to him adorned with a flower crown, or the paper if she catches the delivery man before he reaches the cafe; other times, she's accompanied by the fetching corgi from around the corner or the kind elderly woman whose book club Victor caters for with weekly caramel apple pies. Victor prides Makkachin on her innate sense of people. He would faster use store-bought lady fingers in his recipes than question her warmth towards someone, or lack thereof.

It's an otherwise nondescript Tuesday in May, heated as fervently as the Turkish hot chocolate that sits comfortably in his grasp. Victor puts the finishing touches of the day's specials on the chalkboard and sips on his beverage outside the pale blue doors of _Makka's_ ; the striped awning above the entrance casts a gentle shadow over him and he smiles, readying himself for another day.

Little does he know that Makkachin, the unfailing namesake of his cafe, is bounding towards him with a particularly serendipitous surprise. He's only given an instant to register her darting presence and a winded string of pleas before everything goes topsy-turvy. There hasn't been rain in the area for quite some time but the thunderbolt that quite literally crashes into Victor - upending him, his drink, the chalk in his hand, and his life - leaves him breathless with shock and it's not only caused by the harsh impact of his butt with the new wood flooring. He's in-between someone's legs, his back to the person who currently mimics Victor's own painful groans. Makkachin's muffled bark and windmill of a tail flurries in his peripheral; there's an odd protrusion from her mouth, medium sized and dark in color.

"Oh...oh shit! Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" The voice whisks right into Victor's chest and curls perfect ribbons over his heart, "The poodle, she took my notebook and took off and- oh God, I'm really sorry! Did I hurt you? Let me help you up-"

Victor allows himself to be steered, chocolate soaking into his custom-made apron that has Makka posing in a chef's hat emblazoned on its front. Strong hands are on Victor, righting him while the man reiterates how wrong he is for causing Victor undue trouble. When they're on their feet and Victor finally turns to see who his poodle has accosted and who the lovely voice belongs to, he can't help the mild gasp that escapes him, staring with the kind of shamelessness that should only come after downing at least three of his infamous cookie butter shakes.

The man is, in a word, _beautiful_ \- tousled hair that would put the finest roasts to shame; the softest dimples dotting his embarrassed grimace that Victor would give away his father's secret scone recipe to dip his thumb in; lips that grow wetter and redder and riper with nervous bites; eyes that sparkle with genuine apology behind blue-rimmed glasses that only adds to the overall charm...

"...kay?"

Victor blinks, "Huh?"

"Um, I asked if you're okay," the man is flushed bubblegum pink, gesturing to him, then the spilled drink and lost mug, "Do you have something...I can clean this up for-"

He's midway into a crouch and Victor stops him, shaking his head hurriedly and talking much too loudly to be cool, "It's fine, really. I should be the one apologizing to you. Hazards of having an adventurous poodle and all."

"I insist-"

"And I'm insisting," Victor tries his utmost to ignore just how stunning the stranger is, at least until the floor is taken care of, "that you leave everything to me. Please."

Victor assumes his most assertive expression which, at the moment, is nothing more than bold heart-eyes and a faux pout. The man doesn't argue, lips twitching in amusement as he studies Victor with enough curiosity that Victor's heart high-fives itself; Victor takes a deep breath and plunges on.

"Right. Let's start over, shall we?" Victor takes the opportunity to direct all of his attention towards the man, "Welcome to _Makka's_. I'm Victor, the owner of this fine establishment. This is my best girl, Makkachin, who I know is deeply sorry for disrupting your morning. Would you like some coffee?"

"Well, uh," Makka trots over to the man from near the counter and returns his leather-bound notebook, making him chuckle, "Sure. Why not? I'm Yuuri and it's nice to meet you. And you too," he takes his book and ruffles Makkachin's head, "Makkachin, huh? You're absolutely gorgeous for such a troublemaker."

 _Yuuri_. Victor beams, excusing himself and rushing off to the back to discard his apron, grab some cleaning supplies and text his friends emojis with no context, all the while promising Makkachin every single treat this and every world has to offer. He quickly erases the mess, again refusing Yuuri's bid to help and listens with delight as Yuuri coos to his poodle; anyone else would probably be fuming over Makkachin's antics but this guy is showering her in endearments and cheek squishes. Victor can't begin to believe his luck.

Soon, Yuuri is tucked away in the spacious alcove built into the floor-to-ceiling shelves that trim much of the cafe. Makka rests on his lap as he sips on a double espresso and writes in his book, foot tapping against one of the legs of the single table. His handwriting consists of neat, delicate loops and thoughtful scribbles next to complex text that Victor deduces is some coding language or the other. Unfortunately, he doesn't have a moment to spare his lovely acquaintance. Even with Mila and Yuri's arrival, things are the usual kind of crazy; mornings are always hectic, with the nearby university patrons and people stopping by as they head to their respective offices. Victor adores every one of his regulars and today they all notice the way his eyes stray to the back of the cafe and how much of the words he says are actually gibberish; Yuri translates on his behalf in-between hearty snorts.

Because the universe hates him, Victor finally gets a breather just as Yuuri approaches the register, Makkachin right at his heels. Yuuri extends his credit card, smile warm and shy around a quiet "That's some of the best coffee I've ever had, thank you".

Victor promptly melts, "It's on the house."

"What? I couldn't-"

"Compliments of Makkachin," Victor says cheerfully, "and it's the least I can do for the trouble she caused you."

"No trouble, really,” Yuuri assures him, gorgeous in his earnestness, “It’s more like good luck since I've been looking for somewhere close to the university that isn't a Starbucks. Their food is pretty terrible."

Victor perks at that; _will he come back? Oh my God, please come back!_ "Here's a brochure, opening hours are on the back. I do delivery in the area on certain days and you can request custom orders on Instagram or my website. Or call them in. Anytime you want."

"Thanks, Victor," Yuuri smiles, bends to give Makkachin one last head rub and walks out of _Makka's_ with Victor's heart.

 

* * *

Victor exits the cafe’s kitchen around lunchtime three days later, sees Yuuri sitting in the alcove, and nearly loses the freshly iced chocolate cake he's about to set on the counter. Makkachin is spread over Yuuri’s foot while he types, bubbled away from the world as he focuses on whatever’s on his screen and coming through the headphones perched atop his ruffled hair.

Mila steadies him and makes sure the dessert is safely placed, chuckling along with two of his long-time customers - Shiva, a design professor from the university, and Martha, the book club aficionado. The three of them exchange looks of none too subtle glee, glancing over at Yuuri as Victor goes up in smoke.

“Go on,” Mila nudges him knowingly, “He refused to order lunch twice so either he’s waiting for you or…”

“Or?” Victor is wide-eyed, alarm clumped in his voice.

Mila fixes him with an exasperated frown and Martha giggles into her hand. Shiva chips in on their behalf, “There is no ‘or’. And, if you don’t mind my saying, you have very good taste. He’s a bright young man, if you ask me.”

“You talked to him?”

Shiva grins, “At the university, yes. He recently moved here and he’s scheduled to give a few presentations this semester. A lot of my students live to emulate his, ah,” he pauses and winks, “I'm going to shut up now before I spoil your future conversation with him.”

Martha leans forward in what she must assume is conspiratorial but really, it only draws more attention to them all; thankfully, Yuuri is the only one in the cafe who remains oblivious to the antics currently in motion.

“Shiva is right! Such a handsome man and so soft spoken. And the way he spoils Makkachin, no wonder she approves of him,” she wags a finger at Victor, “Don’t let him get away!”

Victor’s spout of nervous laughter carries to the corners of _Makka’s_ , much to everyone’s delight; his customers take turns glancing at Yuuri and beckoning to Victor to go for it. The embarrassing noise is enough to rouse Yuuri from his concentration; his eyes meet Victor’s and when Victor offers his best smile (and several hundred prayers to the universe for some collective chill), Yuuri returns it.

He amasses a final round of encouraging looks before making his way to Yuuri. The headphones come off, and Yuuri sits up straighter, lashes dusting his cheeks before he lifts his head with a shy smile. Victor’s nerves combust in awe; as mad as it sounds, if there’s one thing he knows above all else, it’s that he doesn’t stand a chance against Yuuri.

“Hello, Yuuri,” Victor is surprised the words find their way out of his mouth given that his mind is spewing nothing but confetti, “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” Yuuri fiddles with the headset’s cushioning, “I couldn't stop thinking about you...r coffee. Wish I had time to come in sooner.”

“Oh?” Victor resists the urge to step on his own foot; surely he can conjure a better response than that! Thankfully, Yuuri is none the wiser to his dilemma, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck and continuing anyway.

“I barely left my apartment the last few days trying to finish some projects. I don’t know what I was thinking accepting work that all had the same week as their deadline. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve smelled proper food since I was here the other day.”

Victor is instantly mortified. Did Yuuri survive on microwave meals or leftovers or both? Was sustenance coming from (oh God…) boxed mac and cheese? And what about dessert because come on, what was lunch or dinner without hot, homemade pie, the most important of all food groups?

He doesn't bother to clarify, immediately launching into a detailed overview of the day’s menu, starstruck demeanor taking a backseat in favor of ensuring a satisfied tummy. To his relief, Yuuri places a hefty order and Victor rushes off to get things together as quickly as his expertise and appliances will allow. Soon, Yuuri’s table is cleared of all work-related paraphernalia and replaced with an impressive spread that Yuuri dives into with a ravenous sigh. Victor steals a few seconds of contented gazing for himself before he steps away to tend to his other customers. He catches Yuuri sneaking Makka bits and pieces of his lunch and mouths “Are you kidding me?!” to Mila who bounces on her heels, grinning merrily. Makka never eats from anyone; it took her months to nibble from Mila and Yuri’s hands, further helped by Victor’s assurance that it was okay. But there she is, lying happily next to the most beautiful man in the world, feasting like a queen.

His phone pings and Victor fishes it out of his apron pocket, staring confused at an ongoing string of messages from Yuri.

 **From: Yuri**  
HOLD THE FUCK UP  
YOUR YUURI IS YUURI KATSUKI?!  
THE YUURI KATSUKI?!

 _The?_ Victor sends at least ten question marks and a side of confused emojis, heart ricocheting in the sudden excitement.

 **From: Yuri**  
OMFG IT IS LOOK!

The email screenshot Yuri sends him is definitely Yuuri, sans glasses. It’s a black and white shot of him, hair artfully coiffed, eyes drawn from the camera in a candid smile. It does him justice but not enough, Victor decides with a sigh. There’s some text under the picture but most of it is cropped and provides no context.

 **From: Yuri**  
I DIDN'T RECOGNISE HIM WITH THE GLASSES!  
OH MY GOD VICTOR  
HE’S A LEGEND IN THE INDIE COMMUNITY  
They revealed him as a special guest in our upcoming seminars  
Yuuri fucking Katsuki!  
Can you introduce me?!

Victor has to stifle a laugh; he’s barely gotten through an introduction of himself much less opening the floor to others. But this appetizer is incredibly juicy if a little maddening. Who exactly was Yuuri that Shiva and Yuri spoke so highly of him? He’s halfway through typing Yuuri’s name into Google but his heart is shrill in it’s warning; it’s like Shiva said, being impatient would only ruin a possible conversation between them.

Victor clears Yuuri’s table twenty minutes later, swelling with pride when Yuuri praises every dish and goes so far as to identify his top three favourites (the coconut cream pie is one of them, mission accomplished!). Yuuri has his notebook open again, an entire page nearly filled with code; when Victor returns with a cup of coffee, he finally questions it.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you working on?”

Yuuri glances up with a sweet blush, smoothing a hand over the page as he explains, “It’s for my next project. I'm an indie video game developer. This,” he gestures to the lines of code, “just helps me get ideas out of my head so I don’t forget then later.”

"That sounds really awesome," Victor smiles wide and welcoming and with every intention of getting to the bottom of Yuri’s texts, "Mind if I sit?"

Victor learns through a series of inquisitive nudges that Yuuri Katsuki is part of the renowned independent team _In Regards to Games_ and their first video game, _Yutopia_ , won critical acclaim for its quirky art style and fresh story that drew inspiration from the Katsuki onsen back in his hometown of Hasetsu.

An onsen, Yuuri thoughtfully specifies, is a Japanese-style hot springs resort with outside baths that are perfect for soothing the skin and muscles. The way he talks about Hasetsu, more an ode than plain descriptions, makes Victor ache with homesickness; nostalgia lights stars in Yuuri’s eyes and brings out the rose in his ears. He adores his home and his parents’ business but there was no restraining his creativity.

“Everyone was so supportive of my decision,” Yuuri scribbles small filigree at the edge of the page, “Even my ballet instructor gave me her blessing when I decided to leave Hasetsu.”

Victor pounces at the word ‘ballet’, subtlety left blinking in the dust, “You dance?!”

“Y-yes. Well, no, not as much as I used to. I keep up the pirouettes and stretches but there’s only so many hours in a day.”

“Amazing.” And there’s no masking how tenderly Victor says it; the idea of Yuuri on tiptoes, gracefully contoured and effortlessly flexible is intriguing in more ways than one.

Yuuri continues, softly, slowly, a little bewildered if Victor is reading him correctly. Each question, though, loosens Yuuri, lessens his bashful stutters, sees him light as beautifully as the suspended fixtures in the cafe. Soon enough, Yuuri is talking lightning fast, bright and bubbling and bursting with everything Victor didn't think existed in the real world. Every so often, Yuuri catches Victor's gaze (which he's not doing on purpose, no, not him) and rewards him with that gentle blush, pink cotton candy on his cheeks that Victor is really starting to crave a taste of. As a matter of fact, Victor's about half a sentence away from offering himself as a sample (that's a good way to further break the ice, right?), instead of the mini creme brulee cupcakes that Mila is passing around to gauge customer feedback.

"Is this silver-fox bothering you?" Mila taps her foot and smiles at the pair; Victor glares and Yuuri giggles as he helps himself to a cupcake (at which Victor stops glaring, smile squiggled with affection).

"Not at all. I think I’m the one keeping you back," Yuuri munches on the dessert and casts a sweeping look over the cafe, "You're really popular, Victor."

"Most of the people here are my regulars,” Victor motions to the packed couches and tables, “We’ve gotten a lot of traction from word-of-mouth and Instagram-"

"And poodles?" Yuuri teases, before ducking his head as though taken aback by his own openness. Victor thinks it's positively adorable.

“I have zero jurisdiction when it comes to her,” Victor says and Makkachin woofs her agreement.

"I'll have to bake Makkachin something special for being such a good girl, then," Mila sings before she saunters off, flashing a wink over her shoulder.

Yuuri glances over at Victor and just as quickly, looks away with another shy turn of his lips; if he didn’t already suspect that Victor has retold the story of their unusual meeting, it’s entirely factual now. Victor plays with the edge of his apron, the strangest warmth making waves in his chest, more so when Yuuri faces him again and points to shelf on his left.

"So, um, I was wondering, what's with all the books?"

 _Makka's_ walls are lined with well-kept vintage bookshelves and overflowing with all shapes, sizes and genres of books; fiction and nonfiction, second-hand and brand new. Victor admires them as he talks.

"When I bought the property, I wasn't really sure what to do with the shelving. I thought about having them taken down until my mom shipped me a box of my old novels she found back home. I figured what was the point of keeping then packed away upstairs, so, I put them out here and wrote on the chalkboard outside, ‘ _Makka's_ is accepting books, feel free to shelve them when visiting the cafe’. The response just grew and grew until it became a library of sorts. We're almost out of space, unfortunately."

"I'm glad you kept them," Yuuri says and Victor is happier for it, “It really adds to the atmosphere. How long has _Makka's_ been around?"

“Two years this Christmas. I opened a week before my twenty-seventh birthday even though the plan was initially a January launch. Word spread quickly thanks to the online orders I'd done before and the Instagram page was suddenly swarmed when people realized there was a brick and mortar location. It's crazy when I think about it.”

“That's amazing and well deserved, considering the lunch I just had.”

Heat plasters Victor’s neck, “Thank you. Doing this makes me very happy and I’ve met so many good people because of it. My mother's constantly recommending _Makka’s_ when she has friends coming to the area and they’ve all given me glowing recommendations online. I was really worried mom wouldn't see it as a viable option but she proved me wrong.”

“What does your mom do?”

“She's a figure skating coach and a former World Champion skater herself,” Victor shows Yuuri the small skate pin he wears on the strap of his apron, “The thing I love most about her is that she never pushed me into skating. All she ever wants is to see me happy. I wish we could spend more time together but she’s stationed in Russia and leads a busy career. Thank God for Skype.”

Yuuri beams at his story, “She sounds wonderful.”

“She is! Dad, rest his soul, used to call her his Ice Queen. The media caught on when she won her third Grand Prix medal, much to her horror.”

Yuuri's smile slips, “Your dad…”

“He passed away when I was fifteen,” Victor shakes his head as Yuuri grows pale, “It’s okay, really, I love talking about him! He was a famous pastry chef and his signature chocolate cake was the first recipe he ever taught me. It’s my most requested dessert and I think he’d be happy to know that I've kept his dream alive.”

They reminisce about their families over two slices of said cake, laughing as Makkachin fails to woo either of them into sharing with her (“This isn’t good for you, sweetheart,” Yuuri scratches her head in apology and she plops back onto his foot with a huff, pawing lazily at his shoelaces). Their flow is only thwarted by the phone ringing and Mila calling his name with real urgency, mouthing “Wedding” and “Sorry guys”.

“I'm so sorry, Yuuri. I have to take this.”

“It’s okay.”

The calls goes on long enough that Yuuri finishes his coffee and cake, and is at the cashier when Victor hangs up. Yuuri smiles warmly, and extends his credit card with a soft "Everything was delicious, thank you".

“I had fun today,” Victor doesn’t know if that’s the right thing to say; it wasn’t a date they just had, after all. But Yuuri looks so cheered and so comforted by the words, eyes dazzling with unspoken hints that maybe, just maybe, Victor isn’t the only one hoping.

“Me too,” Yuuri collects his card and bill, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Maybe next time you can show me what programming or gaming books you have in here.”

Victor waves after him as he leaves, feeling lighter than his housemade whipped cream when Yuuri looks back not once, not twice, but _four times_.

_Next time, huh?_

 

* * *

Over the next month and change, it becomes an understanding (and a rather cute running joke among Victor’s patrons) that _Makka’s_ alcove is reserved for one Yuuri Katsuki. He becomes a fixture at the cafe, coming in on most days, armed with his laptop, headphones and notebook. Yuuri greets the regulars once his headphones are off; and when he’s immersed in his work, they leave him be, opting to throw thumbs ups at Victor instead. Sometimes, Yuuri and Shiva sit together and discuss ongoing events at the university; other times, Martha says hello with a handful of candies and they share their latest book suggestions with each other over Victor’s hot chocolate.

But, without fail, it’s Victor who monopolizes Yuuri’s short but frequent stints at the cafe. The pleasantness that interlaces into their time together has Victor floating. There’s never a moment between him and Yuuri that feels forced or subject to a thousand degrees of overthinking. It’s...simple, like the crisp smell of a new book or the gleam of a new appliance or (as Yuuri sometimes celebrates) a night’s worth of code that runs without a hitch.

Yuuri called him on one such evening for the first time a few weeks ago, yawns pressed into the back of his hand by the mutated sound of it. He very carefully asked if Victor wouldn’t mind doing a delivery so near to his closing hours; apparently his lunch consisted of two day old stirfry because Yuuri was the sustainable kind of cook, preferring to stockpile food in advance. Victor didn't know if Yuuri’s hesitance came from his sleepiness or him debating boundaries; it was laughably moot because Victor, in a cartoonish dash, crushed the phone between his ear and shoulder, and began piling ingredients into his arms from the fridge.

It took an hour, a spare picnic basket, and three outfit changes before he followed Yuuri’s messaged directions to the apartment complex less than a few minutes drive away. Before Victor knew it, he was knocking on Yuuri’s door, balancing on his toes then his heels, back and forth in anticipation until the door swung open.

“Hey,” Yuuri squinted and smiled and stumbled a little as he moved for Victor to come in, “That was quick.”

 _Bless this man._ Victor tried his damnedest not to stare at the sky blue sweater that fell off Yuuri’s shoulder or the tapered pajama pants that sat loose on his hips. Instead, he moved straight to the kitchen on his right, set the basket down and rambled about the extras he included in Yuuri’s orders. The distraction Victor weaved for himself was so great that Yuuri’s snore was what alerted him to the otherwise prevailing quiet.

Yuuri was half slumped on the couch, one leg dangling, wallet sliding from his fingers into the folds of his sweater. It was then Victor noticed that the kitchen was the only light in the place save for four desktop screens on the far left. The curtains were blackout and it took a moment for Victor to see the piles of books on the coffee table, several white boards spread over the carpet, pens and markers in every hue scattered over all possible surfaces, post-its in overlapping sizes coloring the walls…

Victor smiled. _Oh Yuuri_. He packed away the food, borrowed one of Yuuri’s markers and left a post-it of his own on the countertop with what was what and reheat instructions, and, after a minimal debate, his personal number. It stressed him that Yuuri was positioned so uncomfortably but Victor couldn't bring himself to touch him; no matter how innocent, Yuuri trusted him and he stayed well behind that assumed line. The only compromise he allowed was taking the throw spread over the back of the couch and draping it over Yuuri as gently as he could.

“Goodnight, Yuuri,” Victor murmured as he left, the image of him snug and fast asleep keeping Victor up way past his usual bedtime. The morning brought a thread of “OMFG” and “SORRY” and “Thank you!” and “Victor...wtf I ordered a chicken salad sandwich”. It was a fantastic beginning to them chatting outside _Makka’s_ , if Victor said so himself.

Seven weeks to the day that Yuuri fell into his life, Yuri uses his break to approach Yuuri tentatively (as always), laptop in hand; it’s not long before both men are conversing at top speed over grilled cheese sandwiches and Makkachin’s begging. Victor observes it all from his perch beyond the kitchen door, face filling the porthole, adoring sighs in abundance. Behind him, Chris and Mila are mimicking his emotional acoustics until he suddenly grabs onto Chris and spins him around with a barely controlled squeal.

“Calm down, Victor!” Mila begs, shielding the elaborate cake that she’s in the middle of decorating, “If you knock these tiers over, the Fishers will kill us both!”

“Didn't I tell you, Chris? Yuuri’s absolutely gorgeous and so smart and he’s here all the time and-”

Chris, his florist who heard the rousing news of Yuuri Katsuki via Whatsapp while he was on vacation, happily twirls with Victor, “Yes, cheri! But I have to second the ‘calm down’. Those arrangements didn’t assemble themselves,” they slow to a limited foxtrot and Chris smiles indulgently, “You weren’t lying when you said Yuuri was attractive. And it doesn’t take very long to find his extraordinary list of accolades online. So, the obvious question here is: why haven’t you asked him out yet?”

“Oh, they weren't already dating?” Mila teases, “Could’ve fooled us all.”

Victor stops dancing, peeking out of the porthole longingly, “I...I don’t want to scare him off. We’re doing so well as friends. And yes, I know what you guys will say to that. I know we talk everyday and I know we’re in each others pockets. He calls me when he’s not coming in to tell me about his day or a new care package he got from the onsen or how his project is going. And he listens, really listens, no matter what I’m talking about. It’s nice. Simple.”

“It would be a whole lot simpler if one of you knuckleheads admitted how you feel,” Mila aims the icing smoother at him, faux throws it in challenge, “The pool is up almost two grand in favor of you making the first move.”

“Mila!” Chris laughs, “Secret, remember!”

She shrugs, “I bet on Yuuri.”

Victor pouts his way over to a spare bowl of buttercream and eats the pink concoction off the back of a spoon. _God._

It’s a short two hours that Yuuri graces _Makka’s_ and all too soon, he’s paying for his meal and updating Victor on his schedule for the rest of the week. Victor returns the favor, his whole being willing Yuuri to stay just a little bit longer, to make Victor’s life all the more bright with that twinkling smile of his.

“I’m meeting with Shiva in an hour, then I have two conference calls. I’m glad I got time outside the apartment today. Yuri helped get me out of my own head,” Yuuri says, nibbling on an ice-skate-shaped cookie Victor prepared as a complimentary snack for patrons, “My production partner, Phichit, keeps telling me I need a vacation but you should know by now how stubborn I am.”

Victor has spent an inordinate amount of time looking at Yuuri, and the massive yawns and dark circles under his eyes are an overture for someone deep in the grind. Victor gets it, respects it; it wasn’t very long ago that his own hours were a lot less forgiving than of late.

“Hey, you can always work here if you want a change of scenery. Like actually work,” Victor chuckles, “no fine print, no addendums. It’s quieter after the lunch rush and I open at five if you’re looking for an early cup of coffee. You can stay as long as you want, whenever you want.” Please.

“But your hours are seven to-”

“Five for you,” Victor states and Yuuri stares at him, breath seemingly siphoned from his lungs; he clears his throat, inspecting the half eaten treat in his hand. Yuuri's blushes are one of Victor's favorite things. It spreads like ink drops across his cheeks, clouds Victor's world with cherry-goodness, puts the farm-fresh produce in his stock to shame. Yuuri would make for the most incredible top. Topping. He meant _topping_. Victor bites discreetly into his tongue.

“Victor, this is your place of business.” Yuuri says it so matter-of-fact that Victor steels himself to win this argument; doesn't Yuuri know that Victor is always ready to accommodate him?

“It’s also near to your apartment, the wi-fi is free, there’s usually free snacks, Makkachin loves you, and I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he inclines himself towards Yuuri, “We have a five-star rating on Yelp. It’s the beacon of my whole career.”

Yuuri dissolves into laughter, the tune of it so incandescent, so Yuuri-esque, one that sets him alight as his walls dip to accept Victor's goof.

"I don't want to intrude. I'm here most days as is," Yuuri smiles, shy and perfect in his constant need to ensure Victor's comfort. How does Victor tell him that Yuuri brings lemony-zest to the place the likes of which Victor never dreamed of? How does VIctor tell Yuuri that he wants him to stay?

He can ask Yuuri on a date, like a normal person with a devastating crush should. But why do things the easy way when he can take a turn to being extra? After all, his dad used to say that you brought out the good piping for the people most important to you. So, during a two day stint where Yuuri is on back-to-back calls for various activities, Victor has his contractor set up a workspace right in Yuuri's favorite corner of the cafe, swapping out the smaller table for one that’s more functional. It includes fresh flowers from Chris's shop, a heap of colorful notepads and stationery and, even though Yuuri probably gets them online, a stack of video game magazines (all thanks to Yuri and Shiva’s guidance) that he plans to replenish monthly. _Makka’s_ patrons swoon over the addition, everyone having nothing but fabulous things to say about Yuuri and all the good luck to bestow on Victor.

When Yuuri approaches it after an all-nighter, showing up outside Victor’s door at five-thirty, he’s chili red and ready to burst at the sight. Yuuri clutches at his laptop bag, bending awkwardly to pet Makkachin, eyes flitting back and forth between Victor and the new space.

"F-For me?"

Victor nods, brings Yuuri coffee and watches him settle in, a loud “Oof!” echoing in the empty cafe as Makkachin bounds into his lap (“I missed you too, girl,” Yuuri says and Victor’s falls...somewhere far and beautiful and inevitable). They both don’t say much in the intervening hour that Yuuri is there, opting to share wholly fond looks, all sweet and uninterrupted and more telling than words. Yuuri leans against the shelf, fingers fluttering over the table’s fine wood and all the items there. A smile plays between extended yawns, tongue darting over his lips for stray caffeine dots and fluffing Makkachin’s ears with every “Such a good girl”. Victor moves between the kitchen and the front, arranging plates of pastries in his showcase, stepping lightly when he sees Yuuri snoozing away in his seat.

“You could’ve called in the coffee order,” Victor jokes when Yuuri sways to him and drops a suspiciously thick roll of bills into the tip jar.

“I wanted to see you,” Yuuri says, flushed with the confession, “I missed...being here.”

“I missed having you here,” Victor’s extra two words makes up for (what he hopes) is Yuuri’s missing one. Yuuri shakes his head, eyes glazed over with the raw emotion of the sleep deprived.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Victor,” he says and it’s somewhat desperate, “You made my week, really, you did. You’re way too good to me. Will you at least let me cover the cost of-”

“Not a chance.”

“Victor, I'm not...you have to let me do something. Please?”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Victor smiles, “What you can do is one, get some sleep. And two, oh right, a lot more sleep. And three, promise I’ll see you soon, well-rested and refreshed?”

"Yes." It's vaguely curt, and Victor dims somewhat at Yuuri’s tone, wondering if he went too far with his demands. But, before he can summon something clever to fill the gap, Yuuri leans over the counter, balancing on his palms and tip-toe, and presses the softest, most vibrant kiss to his cheek.

The kettle housed away in Victor's heart starts whistling madly.

"Yes, Victor," Yuuri says again, and it's warm breath against his skin and ghosting lips and hair tickling his cheek and _perfection_ , "I promise."

"G-good,” Victor hopes he actually says that because words are not his current forte. Yuuri is still so close, something else clearly on the tip of his tongue.

“Victor...um…”

“Y-yes?”

“Would you like to have dinner on Friday?”

Victor is still in shock and now incredulous and it makes for a ridiculous response of: “You want to have dinner? With me?”

“I could take Makkachin instead, if you’ll allow it,” Yuuri looks down at the poodle sitting attentively at his side who woofs happily at the extra attention. Victor huffs at the sudden bit of cheek.

“Am I so easily replaceable?”

Yuuri considers him, another bout of unhidden affection in his gaze, "No. No you're not, Victor."

"Well. Um. Meet me here at seven-thirty?" Victor suggests, unable to find a suitable quip. He doesn't want to upset the way Yuuri is looking at him, the one that makes Victor feel like the whole wide world is at his feet.

"Okay. Seven-thirty it is. Seen you then, Victor. Bye, girl.”

Yuuri waves at him and Makkachin, and strolls out the shop. Victor won't tell a soul that, in Yuuri’s partially sleepy state, he forgets that Victor hasn’t re-adjusted the blinds; Victor gets a full view of Yuuri fist pumping the air and doing an endearing and well-choreographed shuffle before he rounds the corner.

Victor, with nothing but stars shooting through his chest, imagines his father giving him two thumbs up.

 

* * *

It’s two whole days of absolute torture waiting for Friday. Victor has no choice but to keep his hyperactivity and impatience in check because the wedding on Thursday features a bride who is a stickler for details. He was expressly told by the groom that they’d been through six different bakeries, leaving the sentence hanging and his eyebrows raised for Victor’s intuitive benefit. He holds it together, fueled by his own need for providing quintessential service and by the silly photos he and Yuuri exchange in their interlude - him wearing a coat of flour and fondant, and Yuuri next to two formidable whiteboards in his apartment, both covered in Agile processes and doodles of Makkachin.

Friday looms and Victor is a mess of glitter and stray flowers and vanilla essence. A shower more or less erases the evidence but fuck, he doesn't have anything to wear! It’s close to seven p.m., too close, and he’s spewing outfits from his closet with the force of a man past histrionics because _Yuuri Katsuki asked him on a date_. What kind of person is he that he didn’t have the decency to pick something in advance? How was he this careless? Why did he never invest in the automated closet that Cher had in Clueless?

"Victor, stop!" Mila and Chris are burdened with clothes, no longer able to catch them out of the air, their arms are so full. Victor is out of breath and making unintelligible noises in both Russian and English, staring mournfully at the mess that brings him no closer to getting dressed.

Yuri rolls his eyes, slides off the bed, punches Victor's shoulder and holds up a hand.

"OW! Yuri! What-"

"Wear this, dumbass," Yuri drags dark jeans from the pile, and the wrinkle-free purple button down with the black accents at the cuff and along the buttons. Victor takes the suggestion, fluster reducing as he surveys the two pieces, lining them up against his body and bouncing in front of the mirror.

"This is perfect!"

"How-" Mila and Chris echo in approval and awe.

Yuri shrugs, "I saw a similar look in this magazine, Numero. Yuuri mentioned it and I did some research. It's either this or the orange plaid over there which I still think clashes with your hair so, fuck that."

Victor wastes no more time, changing at top speed, spinning round and round for his friends until he's dizzy. Mila eventually holds him still, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow, symmetry enviable in her care; Chris hands him a belt and Yuri, his watch. He doesn't know who dusts highlighter on his cheeks, or who runs a brush through his hair or who passes him his lip balm; it's a deity's worth of hands hovering over him and he goes with it, substantially less frenetic than he was earlier.

"Is it okay?" Victor smoothes the shirt over his torso, makes sure it’s tucked securely while patting the jeans at his hips. There’s a slight wiggle at his touch since he's soft around the edges, not having the time he used to for stringent workouts. It doesn't bother him at all; he just wants to look as cute as possible for Yuuri tonight.

"He won't be able to take his eyes off of you," Mila fixes a few stray wisps of hair to the right side of his part, "or your ass."

Chris snickers, "Like that's ever been an issue before."

"Yuuri stares at my ass?"

Victor studies the trio who all fix him with candid smirks and he preens happily under the newfound knowledge.

 

* * *

Victor lies awake at three a.m., giddy as he rolls with Makkachin across the bedsheets and replays his date with Yuuri over and over again. He kicks his legs up, covers his face and whispers “Holy shit” for the infinite time, no thought given to the fact that he hasn’t slept as yet.

He made no assumptions beforehand about his date with Yuuri; didn’t plot contingencies or create a flowchart of what ifs and what-to-dos the way he usually did for _Makka’s_. And even if he had, it would’ve sunk right in the middle because the nascence of the evening spoke for itself when he met Yuuri standing patiently outside the cafe. His hair was combed back, glasses replaced with contacts, looking unfairly beautiful in his sweater-shirt combo. After that sight, things seemed to go by in a blur: the two of them considerably close, from the Lyft to sitting in the outdoor bistro; the fairy lights that shimmered above them through generous servings of wine and laughter; the myriad glances and flittering fingers that always found a glass or utensil to latch on to. Victor’s head and heart swung wildly to Yuuri’s every word and wonder and whim; Yuuri focused on nothing else but him for the entire night, pulling the chair out from under Victor with nothing more than his intoxicating sincerity.

 _He really is something else_ , Victor thinks, unable to remember another time when he felt so strongly, so freely and so deeply about someone.

When it came to dessert, Yuuri shook his head and said (in a casual voice that was immediately betrayed by the rich pinkening of his cheeks) that he had a surprise for Victor back at his apartment. Before Yuuri could refute himself or retrace the offer as being too forward (because Victor went silent for a solid six seconds), Victor was calling for the bill. He loved surprises and gave one of his own as they waited for their Lyft; lacing his arm with Yuuri’s own, delighting in the softness of his sweater and the amazed but mostly relaxed smile Yuuri gave him that made Victor feel unconditionally treasured.

As per usual, Yuuri’s apartment was the scene of chaotic spotlessness; clean and shiny and blotted endlessly with his craft. Victor always found that heartening in the brief moments he spent there; Yuuri was unforgiving about the things that made him happy, an ethos that Victor related to all too well.

“Ignore...all of that,” Yuuri chuckled as he gestured to his computer station and the thick piles of books and mess of whiteboards there, “It’s been a long week. A good week but still.”

Victor got another glimpse of Yuuri’s code and long paragraphs connected with arrows in various shades of neon. He smiled, “Have I ever told you that you have very beautiful handwriting?”

Yuuri faltered, almost tripping over the shoe he just toed-off, “N-no. Thank you. I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.”

“You do this thing when you write,” Victor began describing, filter nowhere to be found, “You tilt your head a little and you tap against whatever’s there with your free hand. Usually it’s the coffee mugs but sometimes it’s Makkachin’s ear and...” He caught a glimpse of Yuuri’s growing redness and coughed into his hand, “Sorry.”

Yuuri shook his head, “Don’t apologize. It’s just...I’m not used to…” he smiled and shrugged and Victor felt a strong urge to kiss him right then, to show him that no matter what past he was referring to, Victor wanted to give him an extravagant future, for as long he would allow it.

“So, what’s my surprise?” Victor held onto Yuuri’s hand, eager and bubbly. Yuuri was so beautifully pink as he led him to the kitchen and to the small, circular platter on the countertop; it was protected with a non-transparent plate cover and Yuuri stared at it like it was Pandora’s box.

“I, um,” Yuuri murmured, “I wanted to make you something, so I asked Mila for a recipe. She walked me through the basics, and I tried it a couple of times before today for practice.”

Yuuri revealed a dozen poodle-shaped cookies, iced in blues and greens, with the ears and feet dipped in chocolate. Victor clapped his hands together, mouth splitting into a wide smile at the gesture. He took one and bit into it with gusto; it was a bit too sweet, and the icing wasn’t one hundred percent properly whipped, but it was Yuuri’s creation, made with heart and care. Where did he even find the time to do this?

“Would you believe me if I told you that no one ever baked for me before?”

Yuuri regarded him curiously, hopping onto the counter with a (relieved) smile as he swiped one of the cookies for himself.

“How come?”

“I don’t know. I guess people assume that because I do it for a living, I’d be a snob about it,” Victor says, crunching away at a chocolatey ear, “Thank you, Yuuri. This is just like you, constantly thinking about me...aking people smile. Are you always so full of surprises?”

“I’m just a recluse. Or so they say.”

“They?”

Yuuri smile is oddly crooked and he looked away with a quiet “Nevermind”; Victor waved a hand, desperate not to have Yuuri think he was prying.

“Ignore me. My curiosity is worse than Makkachin’s.”

Yuuri’s gaze swiveled back to him, "You're not an easy person to ignore."

"Oh really?” Victor touched his lip, raised a fascinated eyebrow, waggled it expressively, “And what makes you say that?”

His display had the right effect; Yuuri laughed, studying him gently as he spoke, “A lot of things, actually. You know every person who comes in _Makka’s_ by name, even the kids and you always have lollipops on hand for them. But not the cherry flavored ones because you sneak those from the jar, especially when you’re stressed out.

“But even when you’re stressed though, you always make sure that everyone is happy, that they feel at home in the cafe. You have a set menu yet there’s always enough in your kitchen to cover food you know some of your regulars might want during exams or on a bad day. And then, there’s the little things you do when you think no one’s looking, like touching your skating pin when you’re on the phone with your mom, or frowning up at your bangs when you realize there’s icing in your hair…”

It was Victor’s turn to be dumbstruck. He knew Yuuri was a wallflower but the way Yuuri looked at him as he recounted his many observations...Victor gulped, hand losing its bearings and going too high until the cookie brushed against his nose and caused him to yelp.

"That’s exactly what I mean," Yuuri giggled, reaching out to lightly thumb at his skin, icing and chocolate clotting easily onto Yuuri’s finger. Yuuri brought it to his lips, tongue darting out to lick at the sweetness, an unconscious motion that Victor could only gape at, mesmerized. Yuuri’s free hand found it’s way to Victor’s cheek, miles and miles of doughy softness in his touch, with a warmth in the underlay that spelled weeks of pure magic. Yuuri didn’t break the contact, eyes fixed on him in a silent request for permission.

"Yuuri," Victor whispered; he put the cookie on the tray and stepped forward until he was between Yuuri’s legs; it seemed only fitting, given their first meeting, “Kiss me. Please.”

_Decadent. Utterly decadent._

They melted into each other - Victor’s arms around Yuuri’s waist, and Yuuri’s own around his neck - kissing feather-light and unhurried, savoring their slow dance into something new and dreamy. Yuuri smoothed his fingertips over the fine hairs on the back of Victor’s neck and Victor sighed into their kiss, hugging him closer. Yuuri was shivering; Victor felt it streaking up his spine and to his shoulders where Victor's hands had trailed to. It was a beautiful reaction, so telling of Yuuri, and Victor groaned, tugging Yuuri off the counter none too delicately.

"Ah!"

Victor walked backwards, taking Yuuri and his lips and his everything against the nearby wall.

"Kiss me more," he demanded, hoping that Yuuri understood; Victor wanted this, needed it, was so smitten with Yuuri that it hurts worse than a toothache. Yuuri’s expression said exactly what Victor needed it to; there was the usual fondness and care but something heated sparked in his eyes, burning and overflowing and smothering and Victor wanted to bottle it up for himself forever.

Their next kiss was a flood, uncontrolled and overwhelming. Whatever liminal element was left between them vanished as Yuuri pressed them flush, claimed his lips, an exceptional level of greed coming over him as he wrapped Victor into his arms and made jelly out of him. Oh, this was more than Victor ever hoped for. He didn’t intend on kissing Yuuri tonight, would’ve waited forever if that’s what it took, but once again, Yuuri had his heart agape. Victor felt the charm between them churn, creamy and addicting. Being entangled in Yuuri wasn’t something he would ever forget; it was whole and real and meant only for him.

It was hours before Victor headed home, having become intimately familiar with Yuuri’s very squishy and velvety couch. Yuuri drove him back to _Makka’s_ , hair deliciously rumpled, lips hopelessly reddened, and smile as radiant as ever. Victor admired his handiwork and neither of them budged from their clasped hands when Yuuri parked his car outside the cafe.

“Thank you for asking me out,” Victor said softly, “and for the cookies and for the kisses.”

Yuuri smiled, “We forgot the cookies, though.”

“Maybe we did it that on purpose?” Victor leaned forward, kissed the tip of Yuuri’s nose, then his lovely cupid’s bow, “I know I did.”

“I guess we’ll just have to eat them next time,” Yuuri’s eyes fluttered close, mischief frolicking in their last few kisses of the night.

_Next time, huh?_

Victor touches his lips for the millionth time, hugging a yawning Makkachin as she snuggles into his chest and entertains his early morning retrospect, “I can’t believe it either, girl! It was the best night of my life,” he tickles under her chin, “You’ve always taken care of me, haven’t you?” She woofs assuredly, tail a windmill of happiness, “Thank you for introducing us, Makka. You’re the best girl a guy could ask for.”

 

* * *

The ebb and flow of the weeks that follow are lush and lustrous with his and Yuuri’s budding relationship. Time passes with a simple kind of exuberance and, from one season into another, Victor finds solace in experiencing the same blaze of tingles whenever Yuuri walks into the cafe, routes straight to him first and kisses him sweetly in greeting, no matter who’s there. The effect is compounded whenever they hold hands and refer to each other as _boyfriend._

It’s breathtaking how easily it all slots into place. Their respective flux - him, managing _Makka’s_ with a constant heart-shaped smile and Yuuri, finalizing the level design for his project with contagious determination - can be demanding and, some days, a late video call is all time will allow. And yet, Victor is unimaginably _spoiled_ by Yuuri’s interminable thoughtfulness.

Victor falls in love in the simmer of Yuuri’s gentle kisses and brilliant smiles; in the raucous elation of a rollercoaster ride at the nearby theme park, and the tempting pull of a third bowl of Yuuri’s infamous katsudon. He falls in love when Yuuri patiently walks him through his design processes and when Yuuri decides that having Victor teach him fancy piping techniques is somehow a perfect date. He falls in love with Yuuri as he watches him and Makkachin lie together in the park, dozing in the midday sun, and when he attends Yuuri’s presentations at the university and sees his beauty unfold in the fine splendor of his speeches.

He falls ever so in love with Yuuri and it doesn't happen with loud and rousing fanfare; there's no clear indication of it or milestones for its appearance. No, it's like honey on an overcast morning, when the coffee is steaming and the blankets are tucked around him. It happens in the unassuming congeniality before dawn, when Victor wakes at some ungodly hour to get a handle on things in the cafe and waiting for him is a voice message from a very sleepy, very wonderful Yuuri wishing him a good morning.  
  
Victor realizes on his fourth listen that he needs to reply and that he wants Yuuri's voice with him, _here_ , under a mound of fabric and fluff, pressing warmth into his skin. He misses Yuuri in the inbetween, their time apart not filled with dates, and cuddling, and silliness. They’ve spent a handful of nights at each other’s apartments, all of them framed in frivolity and a complete abandonment of the concept of personal space. But it’s more than just wanting to kiss the greeting into Yuuri’s disheveled hair and tickle him until he shrieks with laughter. Victor knows what it is, lets it steal over him as he sends a voice note back.  
  
He falls in love with Yuuri and it’s like waking up to new flavor combinations, everlasting inspiration in every second that Yuuri is a part of his life.

Now, if only Victor can tell him.

He tries to, he really does. But sometimes the weather isn't right or Makkachin’s needs another treat or his horoscope isn't helpful or he can't find his lucky underwear in the laundry. The dilemmas are everywhere and working against him. _Honest._

Chris customizes a bouquet for him (larger than life and studded with fragrant dahlias and snapdragons) but when Yuuri asks what's the occasion, Victor announces to the entire cafe that they’re free for the taking. He and Mila bake a cake of Yuuri’s favorite mix of chocolate and coconut but the second Victor spots him in the alcove, he balks and plates it instead. Yuri grits his teeth and tells him to be cool about it - “You’ve seen Yuuri present, Victor, you know how straightforward he is.” - but Victor only ever succeeds in knotting his tongue and furiously eating buttercream spiked in liquor in the frustrating aftermath.

“What’s the issue, cheri?” Chris throws an arm around Victor’s shoulder as they walk through the storage area of Chris’s flower shop during Victor’s rare day off, “Is it the timing? Are you worried Yuuri might think it’s too soon?”

Victor sighs, “I think it is. I keep telling myself ‘one more month’ even though I want him to know how I feel _now_.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. You’re not the only one who flaunts how much you care.”

Chris isn’t wrong. Yuuri might be on the quieter side, but Victor was the exception to every rule; Yuuri’s _actions_ shaped the irrevocable fact that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Still, the words stay helplessly lodged in Victor’s throat. Yuuri comes by in the afternoon and they go upstairs to Victor’s cozy apartment above the cafe; he brews some tea, Victor shuts the blinds and they cuddle together on the massive recliner with the entire Pixar collection, Makkachin flopped over their legs. Victor clings to Yuuri more than usual (maybe the words will imprint themselves on Yuuri’s skin if he concentrates hard enough?), but Yuuri doesn’t mind one bit. He shifts for Victor’s benefit, kisses lovely endearments along his jawline and combs through his hair until Victor’s self-induced stress crumbles away.

“Stay tonight,” Victor mumbles much later, holding onto Yuuri from behind at the door, lips buried deep in his hair. Yuuri wiggles and turns and hugs him tight before kissing him until his knees start shaking.

“Raincheck?” Yuuri says, “There’s something I need to finish for tomorrow. Will you come over after work? And...and if you want, you can stay?”

Victor is half-asleep and sees no reason to question Yuuri’s logic. As for the ‘if you want’, Victor can only smile at Yuuri’s version of ‘no pressure’; what did he do to deserve such a considerate and beautiful boyfriend?

The next day unwinds, linear and unsurprising. He finds some quiet time in Yuuri’s alcove, crossing heaps of accounting and an assortment of emails off his to-do list. Mila covers the floor, Yuri mans the front, and Victor finds himself much calmer at the end of the day. He’s still straddling the line of ‘to tell Yuuri, or not to tell Yuuri’ but somehow, it feels less suffocating today.

He leaves the store in Mila and Yuri’s care and heads over to Yuuri’s; usually, one or both of them will house sit with Makkachin and use the cafe for an all-nighter when he spends the night away. The wholesome feeling persists all through Victor’s short drive and blooms to the tips of his toes when Yuuri pulls open the door before he can knock, tugs him inside and rests his face in the junction of his neck.

“Hey you,” a spattering of sotto voce Japanese comes in response, “Yuuri?”

“T-There’s something I need to show you.”

Victor wraps him into his most valiant bear hug, “Okay. Should I be worried?”

Yuuri doesn’t answer and Victor doesn't protest; eventually, Yuuri leads him to his computer setup and sits him in the comfortable chair that they’ve made out in more times than he can count. Yuuri pulls the keyboard to him, types (a little frantically) and makes a series of expeditious clicks until the screen in front of Victor begins loading something.

“Um,” Yuuri hands him a gaming controller, flushed and jittery, “Play this for me? It’s...it explains itself, I think.”

Victor nods and beckons Yuuri for a kiss; Yuuri has shown him other iterations of his project, so he can’t account for all the nerves but if this is different from the others and special to Yuuri, then it is to him too.

A pixelated Makkachin comes onto the screen and Victor whistles, “Yuuri! She’s adorable!”, pressing ‘Start’ with a wide grin. There’s another quick loading window and then, the scene begins to form. From what he recalls from Yuuri’s explanations, this is a top-down kind of video game that features a virtual Makkachin running around…

“That’s _Makka’s!_ Yuuri, what is this?” Victor is so enamored and he’s barely moved the thumbstick.

“Keep going.”

Victor’s face pains with his smiles as he follows Yuuri’s instruction. The mechanics don’t take long to get used to: food and a corresponding icon appears at the counter, and another similar icon hovers over a table in the virtual cafe. The key, Victor finds, is to have in-game Makkachin deliver food to the correct place and in a specific sequence in order to win a card. There are eight cards in all and every two collected sees more food, more complex ordering and leaner timers.

Never let anyone say he doesn’t like a challenge; Victor has to redo the deliveries for the fourth, fifth and seventh cards twice, and the eight card takes four tries to finally acquire. He cheers when his virtual poodle jumps into the air and twirls around and around under a large ‘Winner’ banner.

“This is the cutest thing I've ever seen, Yuuri! Can we put this up on the screens in the cafe? Maybe build it into an app? Oh, I'd love to talk to you about that-”

“Victor, um, you’re not finished.”

Victor glances back at the screen and sees ‘Continue’ in place of ‘Winner’. He makes a questioning hum and presses ‘X’. Words appear over the pixelated cafe and Victor’s jaw turns to molasses.

**_Thank you, Victor, for six of the most beautiful months of my life. Every day since I met you has been an inspiration and I never dreamed we’d be here. But we are, and I want you to know that not a day goes by that I'm not grateful to have you in my life._ **

The eight cards flash under the text, separating into three groups of one, three and...and... _oh._

**_I love you._ **

Victor’s heart is ripe for the picking.  He stares at the three words, world slowing and tears brimming.

“I- I wanted to surprise you? Surprise!” Yuuri’s shrill voice trembles in his rush, “I started making this the day I met you. It was...I never knew what it was and I thought about showing you but I didn’t want to freak you out. Then we started going out and I added the cards and…” Yuuri gesticulates aimlessly, “well, I tried to tell you the normal way but this happened and I mean, who wouldn't love a pixelated Makkachin and...and I really don't know where I'm going with this explanation. I just...you’re so beautiful Victor, inside and out and you deserve every single good thing out there and-”

“You think I'm beautiful?” Victor whispers, sliding from the chair, leaving the controller in the seat. He steps towards Yuuri who nods, smile like pie fresh from the oven.

“And you love me?”

Another nod, another delectable pie and Victor’s heartbeat drums a tune of incandescent joy. He scoops Yuuri into his arms and touches their foreheads together, breathing in deep against Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri dips a thumb in the corner of his mouth, glides it over his bottom lip, caresses his cheek when he finishes that scintillating journey. Victor is tempered chocolate eased over marble; he melts and melts, finds purchase for his shaking hands in Yuuri’s fine hair, tears falling and laughter jingling in their newly created bubble.

“I love you so much, Victor,” Yuuri says hoarsely, gripping tight into Victor’s t-shirt and erasing whatever inch was left between them.

Victor smiles and thinks his face might just stick that way, “You’re really unfair, Yuuri. Here I am, the luckiest man alive to have met you and gotten to know you and become your boyfriend and I couldn’t say the damn words before you.”

“Victor…”

He leans away just enough to lock eyes with Yuuri, face splotchy with emotion. _I'm going to marry you,_ Victor thinks and his heart bursts with a sense of rightness. Yes, their future will be filled with adventure, there’s no denying it now or ever and Victor looks forward to the days ahead, starting with five words of his own.

“I love you too, Yuuri.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlexWSpark)   
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> 


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